A DANGEROUS SITUATION—A FORGOTTEN PRISONER.
I had been to Paris in the summer of 18— for a little holiday, and was returning in the evening after some races had taken place near that city. I had not attended them, and was, in fact, not aware that they were being held; but I soon discovered the fact from finding myself in the midst of the motley Crowds which always throng railway stations on such occasions, only on this particular day they were a little worse than usual. The race meeting had brought together the roughs of all nations, and especially from England. As it seemed to me, my fellow-countrymen always took the lead in this kind of competition.
I was endeavouring to get to the booking-office amongst the rest of the crowd, and there was far more pushing and struggling than was at all necessary for that purpose. Presently a burly ruffian, with a low East End face of the slum pattern and complexion, rolled out a volley of oaths at me. He asked where the —— I was pushing and what game I was up to, as though I were a professional pickpocket like himself. He had the advantage of me in being surrounded by a gang of the most loathsome blackguards you could imagine, while I was without a friend. I spoke, therefore, very civilly, and said the crowd was pushing behind and forcing me forward. The brute was annoyed at my coolness, and irritated all the more.
Hitherto his language had not been strong enough to frighten me, so he improved its strength by some tremendous epithets, considerably above proof. I think he must have enjoyed the exclusive copyright, for I never knew his superlatives imitated. He finished the harangue by saying that he would knock my head off if I said another word.
To this I replied, with a look stronger than all his language, "No, you won't."
My look must have been strong, because the countenances of the bystanders were subdued.
"Why won't I, muster?" he asked.
"For two reasons," I said: "first, because you won't try; and secondly, because you could not if you did."
He was somewhat tamed, and then I lifted my hat, so that he could see my close-cropped hair, which was as short as his own, only not for the same reason. "You don't seem to know who I am," I added, hoping he would now take me for a member of the prize-ring. But my appearance did not frighten him. I had nothing but my short-cropped hair to rely on; so in self-defence I had to devise another stratagem. To frighten him one must look the ruffian in the face, or look the ruffian that he was. He continued to abuse me as we passed on our way to the booking-office window, and I have no doubt he and his gang were determined to rob me. One thing was common between us—we had no regard for one another. I now assumed as bold a manner as I could and a rough East End accent. "Look-ee 'ere," said I: "I know you don't keer for me no more 'an I keers for you. I ain't afraid o' no man, and I'll tell you what it is: it's your ignorance of who I am that makes you bold. I know you ain't a bad un with the maulers. Let's have no more nonsense about it here. I'll fight you on Monday week, say, for a hundred a side in the Butts, and we'll post the money at Peter Crawley's next Saturday. What d'ye say to that?"
Peter Crawley, whom I have already mentioned as inviting me to breakfast, was like a thunderclap to him. I must be somebody if I knew Peter Crawley, and now he doubtless bethought him of my short hair.